


Every little thing reminds me

by scapegrace74



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Breaking Every POV Rule in the Book, F/M, First Time, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scapegrace74/pseuds/scapegrace74
Summary: This was written over a year ago and then completely forgotten, until someone on Tumblr reblogged it recently.  It’s several things all in one: an answer to @kateyes224 call for fluff, to @leiascully call for happy smut, and my only original contribution to @fictober of 2019.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 11
Kudos: 55





	Every little thing reminds me

For an unmitigated heathen such as himself, Sundays were for adulting. Saturdays could be spent denying one’s responsibilities: sleeping indecently late, shooting some hoops, ignoring an overflowing laundry hamper. But once the sun rose on Sunday, the weekend had crested and was waning, and it was time to face reality.

The laundry took priority. Unless he secured a washer before ten am, it took cunning and a willingness to handle other people’s underwear to complete his loads by nightfall. Lights and darks sorted and soaking, two suits that had fallen victim to his predilection for muddy foot chases and gelatinous evidence were walked to the dry cleaners, conveniently located just down the block. Not yet noon, and the warm glow of virtuous productivity shone on his shoulders.

A midday trip to the supermarket on a weekend was an audacious test of his mood, but he dared it anyway. The evasive driving techniques taught at the Academy came in handy when negotiating aisles bottle-necked by shopping carts. Ignoring the bias for counter-clockwise navigation, he struggled against the prevailing current of fellow shoppers and traveled a rough pentagram across the store: milk and eggs, cereal aisle, baked goods, frozen foods, and finally a fruit or two.

He stopped in front of a display of cantaloupe. Scully liked cantaloupe for breakfast. He would never buy a whole one for himself, but he could see them sharing…

_…sharing the moist air that billowed between them, noses still touching, lips parted in awe. She couldn’t believe it had happened like this. One moment, they had been reclined on his couch, bellies full of pad thai, elbows bumping together companionably. And without fanfare, he had leaned over, lifted her chin on a steady finger, and kissed her fully on the mouth. The moments that followed were a tingling waterfall of sensation (the marshmallow softness of his lips), confusion (what prompted this?), panic (oh my god I don’t know if I’m ready), and arousal (I’ve never been more ready)._

* * *

Lunch after mass with her mother was pleasant. After last night’s rain, the morning had broken clear and fragrant, with a soft focus that only April sunlight can bring. A new café had opened up a few blocks from All Souls, and over the pleasant hum of background conversation and cutlery on stoneware, the two exchanged their usual pleasantries.

Her mother’s birthday was coming up, and they made plans to drive out to Ocean City for some fresh sea air and antiquing, provided a case didn’t call her out of town. As she grew older, she’d grown to treasure these moments with her mother, who was a pivot point in the tilt and whirl of her midway life. No matter how unorthodox, how grim or how dire things became, she always felt centered in her presence.

After their customary bickering over who would pay the bill, they parted on the sidewalk with a warm hug, the cashmere of her mother’s cardigan warming her palms as she inhaled the familiar scent…

_… inhaled the familiar scent of her body, running the bridge of his nose up and down her carotid artery, which throbbed beneath her velum skin. She was half in his lap, curled around his torso like the sweetest vine, and their ribs jolted together as they each swallowed humid lungfuls of air. He dug a hand beneath her cotton top and massaged the elegant flute of her spinal muscles. A sudden nip below his chin drew his head back. She was greedy, achy for the novel wonderland of their kisses. As soon as their lips came together again, her tongue was deep inside his mouth, his nerves hollow straws through which she was siphoning every last drop of his lust._

* * *

Laundry folded and groceries stowed, he flopped down on his couch to eat a hoagie he’d picked up at the supermarket deli. He tuned into the Knicks’ first playoff game against the Raptors. He felt good about their chances against a team with a modified Barney as a team mascot. The portable phone lay next to his sneakered feet on the coffee table, in case it should ring.

Halfway through the second quarter, he accidentally bumped his open bag of Lays Ripple Chips onto the carpet when Allan Houston sunk an epic three pointer at the shot clock. Now a layer of fine crumbs settled into the nap of his area rug. He sighed. A little vacuuming was probably in order. If not, anyone who stopped by would be disgusted by his slovenly ways.

It took a while to unearth his Electrolux from the back of his hall closet. As he yanked it free, a miniature landslide of cleaning implements came with it, including an unopened package of cloth wipes pre-soaked in furniture polish. How long had it been since he dusted?

He set the volume on the game just below the level that made his downstairs neighbour bang angrily on the ceiling, passing the brush forward and back in starburst patterns across the muted geometry of the rug. It was a hypnotic rhythm: forward and back, forward and back…

_… forward and back, his hips rolled into the chalice of her pelvis, causing her to reach behind her to grab onto something, anything, to serve as an anchor in the violent tempest that lashed them both. Since stumbling into his bedroom, they’d been abandoning one pleasure in favour of the next. Her bra was unclasped, but still hung loosely by her shoulders. His jeans pooled around his ankles, and his boxers gaped obscenely around the turgid root of his cock. She wasn’t even fully on the mattress, but he’d opened her thighs like a hardcover book and was now standing between them with a feral twist to his mouth, almost a snarl. His cock was rocking longitudinal to the molten seam of her, basting thoroughly in her juices. She needed only a half minute of concentration to break apart beneath him like an earthquake._

* * *

It was late for a run, but she felt cooped up in her apartment, a firefly in a bottle. Out in the invigorating evening air, she was drawn to the waterfront, where the amber glow from the opposite shore wavered on the murky surface of the Potomac. Physical exertion brought a Zen-like calm that allowed quiet whispers from her subconscious to slip past her guard.

All day, she’d been suppressing thoughts of the monumental crossroads they had reached last night. It wasn’t lack of interest, or ambivalence, or even fear. There were just some things that were too radical and vast to be faced head on. She couldn’t escape them now, as her footfalls beat out a steady tap tap tap…

_… tap tap tap went the headboard against the plaster, as he surged into her depths like an advancing tide, ever rolling back to crest again. At some point, they’d clambered backwards on the mattress, and her palms were splayed wide against the dark wood, bracing her body against the onslaught they’d unleashed. One calf skidded against the slick upward slope of his buttocks, and his face was lost from view, somewhere between her shoulder and the sheets. The words that slipped from his mouth to her ear would light the whole world on fire. She’d climaxed, a break between movements, a breath between stanzas, and still the crescendo of their passion built until it burst with his agonized cry and a tremor so deep inside it forced tears from her eyes._

* * *

He’d just extinguished the television and was filling a tumbler with tap water when she knocked, and he recognized he’d been anticipating this moment all day. In the dusky corridor light, her damp hair was tied back and she wore a cautious yet bemused expression on her beloved face.

_“All day, Mulder. I’ve been… every little thing reminds me… all day long.”_

_“Me too. Come in.”_


End file.
